Check-Mates
by Pellegrina
Summary: "He's a former world chess champion, one of the grandmasters. Some consider him the best chess player of all times. The Boss wants Jane to play against him. And Jane's smart enough to know that Mascarov'll trounce him..." A CBI fundraiser and a really irksome opponent - what's a poor mentalist supposed to do? What he does best of course: scheme and play dirty... Not a chess fic!
1. Chapter 1

**A/N 1: Originally, this was supposed to be a light, fluffy, and short one-shot devising some silly little late-night idea I had, but it developed a mind of its own. Obviously, I wasn't able to produce something totally carefree at the time I started it, namely right after watching "There Will Be Blood". Thus this fic contains heavy spoilers for that episode and part of it deals with the aftermath of it. It takes place at some point between episodes 5.16 and 5.18. I hope that it still includes some of the humor I originally had in mind for it, even though some angst has found its way into it.**

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**A/N 2: I have no knowledge about chess apart from the basic rules and some internet research. So please don't bump me off for any mistakes or inconsistencies regarding the intricacies of this immensely complex game. **

**And to those out there who don't play chess at all (like me!): don't worry, this isn't really a fic about ****chess****.**

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**Disclaimer 1: There might be some superficial parallels between one of my characters and a famous chess player in the real world. But I want to point out that I by no means aim to portray anyone in particular and that this story doesn't intend to insult anyone, let alone reveal anything even remotely true about real living people.**

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**Disclaimer 2: I don't own the characters from "The Mentalist", which is a real pity, but can't be helped. Hence when playing with them, I only express my deep respect for their creators.**

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**This fic is regrettably un-betaed, because my poor beta, the great 'firstdown', is busy enough as it is, editing my extensive story "Catch A Tyger By His Tail". English is not my first language, so please forgive me my many mistakes.**

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**Sorry for the long author note, and now finally on to the story.**

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**Check-Mates - Part One**

**)o()o()o(**

**_Tuesday, early morning - bullpen, CBI HQ, Sacramento_**

* * *

"Jane? Don't make any plans for the coming weekend," senior agent Lisbon told her consultant upon entering the bullpen from the direction of her office, where she'd just finished a phone call. Her face sported a somewhat mischievous expression and her eyes carried a playful glint.

"Why? You asking me out on a date, Lisbon? How exciting," the curly blond man lounging on his famous brown leather couch answered with a smirk, opening his eyes lazily, no longer pretending to be asleep.

Her expression darkened for a moment at the inappropriate insinuation, which also had the rest of her team peaking up from their work with sudden interest. But she got her features under control again very fast, not wanting to give away her discomfort at Jane's teasing remark. Stepping closer to his resting place and stopping in front of it she glared at him. "In your dreams, Jane. Why the hell would I want to settle myself with you after hours? You're too much to deal with inside the office as it is, no need to spoil my time outside of it as well."

His lips turned into a pout giving him the look of an adorable five year old he knew she couldn't resist. When he saw that his gesture had had the desired effect on her, namely softening her features into a slightly apologetic smile, he grinned at her. "Really now, Lisbon. No need to get nasty. I'm known to be very charming and entertaining. I would show you the best time, you've had in years," he declared with confidence, his eyes challenging her to object.

"Even if that was the case, and I highly doubt it is, I'm afraid I'll never find out, because we'll never go out on a date, Jane," she replied with a conviction she didn't feel. Because in all honesty, she wouldn't mind going out with him at all, and considering her nearly non-existent social life his claim wasn't even a hard one to fulfill. But that was beside the point right now. Dating her consultant was a big no-go-area for many very valid reasons, so it was better not to think of it in the first place, which just had been made this much harder by the return of that enticing pout on Jane's lips. Damn, why had the man to be so infuriatingly appealing? And this in spite of her being really angry and annoyed with him due to his insufferable conduct during the last weeks?

"Never is a long time, Lisbon. But I've gathered that it's obviously not going to happen this weekend. A pity, really." He flashed her one of his most charming smiles and had the audacity to wink at her as well. "So enlighten me, my dear. Have you turned clairvoyant now and are predicting a homicide to happen on Saturday or what other plans have you devised to interfere with my well earned weekend off?"

She snorted. "Well earned? You think pissing off people makes you deserving of a weekend off? If that's the case, it would at least explain why you've been extra obnoxious lately."

Jane sat up on the couch and shot her another smug grin. "No, that was just for the fun of it. My weekend off was earned by solving no less than three cases, single-handedly I might add, during the last ten days."

"Single-handedly?" she inquired, her brows raised in astonishment at the outrageousness of his statement. "I seem to remember Van Pelt digging up the vital information on the first case and Cho cracking the perp of the last one. And the second one might be somewhat closed, but due to your illegal interrogation techniques the killer might still walk free in the end. One would think that after almost nine years of working with the police, you'd know better. "

"Meh. Semantics. I should have known that the intricacies of human speech would be wasted on the likes of you," he announced with an air of superiority. "I said I solved them, not that I closed them. I have to leave at least some of the work to you and the lawyers, or I'd really have a hard time living with my bad conscience. How else to justify your continued employment to the poor tax payers of California?" Another arrogant smirk crossed his face.

She shook her head in disbelief. "You're such a jerk, Jane. Does your ego know no bounds?"

"I wouldn't know," he answered merrily, "because should they exist, as of yet it has still to encounter them."

He looked up at her with an impudent glint in his eyes that made her want to smack him. She decided to give in to her urge for once. She bent forward and slapped the back of his head. With a great sense of satisfaction she realized that she'd managed to surprise him with her action this time. His dumbfounded expression went a long way to make up for all the additional paperwork – and several other grievances - he'd caused her lately.

"Did you just hit me?" he asked flabbergasted.

She snickered. "If you still have to ask that, I obviously didn't use enough force." This was followed by another slap, this time to his shoulder and with quite a bit more strength behind it.

He regained his poise immediately this time and cast her a sympathetic look. "Feeling better now?" he inquired, though it sounded more like a statement of fact.

"As a matter of fact, yes, I do," she conceded with a slightly apologetic glance. "I guess, I'm more frustrated with you than I was aware of." She blushed a little, embarrassment clouding her features.

He smiled at her knowingly. "Nothing like a cathartic outburst, Lisbon. At least you spared my nose this time." He chuckled.

"Sorry," she mumbled, still somewhat ashamed at her loss of control.

"Don't be. It has been a rather stressful week for you and I have to admit that I might have been a contributing factor. Irritating you was my way of dealing with the stress, so it seems only fair that you got to hit me. But don't make a habit of it," he warned her with a fond grin.

He got up from the couch and started to walk in the direction of the break room, leaving her standing in front of his now empty resting place like a fish out of water. "Where the hell are you going, Jane?" she asked, a new wave of irritation darkening her features. "I'm not ready dealing with you."

Jane turned around and flashed her one of his mega-watt-smiles. "Somehow I think I'll need a cup of tea for the rest of our lovely talk. You've still not divulged my plans for the weekend and I must say, I'm a bit, shall we say, disconcerted about it. And you, my dear Lisbon, are in an even more dire need of a relaxing cup of tea as recent events prove."

* * *

He continued his progress to the small kitchen area and Lisbon was left standing in her spot rolling her eyes in annoyance. She decided to do the unthinkable and in an act of utter defiance she sat down on his sanctuary. The three agents on her team gasped and cast horrified glances in her direction.

"You think that's wise, Lisbon?" Rigsby asked carefully.

She looked at him and huffed. How dare they question her right to be wherever she wanted to be in this office? "Last time I checked, I was still the boss around here. I can sit wherever I want to, Agent Rigsby. It would be in your best interest not to forget that again." She glared at the tall man.

"Yes, Boss," poor Rigsby replied meekly, looking utterly sheepish after having been chastised like that.

Lisbon took in his expression and felt bad about her harsh words immediately. In a moment of sudden insight she realized that she'd been short and snippy with all of her team for weeks now. And she knew that it wasn't fair to them at all. Her frustration lay with one person, and one person only, namely her stupid, irritating, selfish, inconsiderate, obsessed consultant.

It had started after that whole Lorelei debacle. She'd been alright for a while. Had successfully pretended that she was okay with the things that had happened. But she could see now that it wasn't true. The unresolved issues between her and Jane were affecting her working relationship with the rest of the team and that was unacceptable.

She sighed. Obviously they – as in Jane and her - had to have that Talk (and in her mind it was definitely spelled with a capital T) after all. She dreaded it. Had avoided it with a vengeance (no, wrong word, she chided herself). He'd hurt her enough as it was and she knew a conversation with him about it all would most likely be even more painful. But it seemed she couldn't escape it, if she didn't want to destroy her team or do more than just slap him the next time. But she wasn't ready yet. She would at least wait until after the weekend.

* * *

He came back into the bullpen carrying two cups. He raised his brows when he saw her sitting in his favorite spot but had the decency (or sense of self preservation) not to comment on her obvious act of defiance. He walked over to her and handed her the red cup and saucer he almost always used when preparing tea for her.

She looked up at him and their eyes locked for a moment. He saw her barely concealed anger, which he knew masked a range of other emotions she wasn't quite ready to acknowledge, mostly hurt and disappointment.

She wasn't quite sure what to make of his expression. She recognized genuine warmth, but was afraid there might be some pity mixed into it somewhere, and the mere possibility made her heart grow cold.

He read the change in her eyes at once and shook his head. "No!" he insisted vehemently.

"What do you mean?" she asked, put out by the ease with which he knew how to read her every thought.

"You know, what I mean, Lisbon. And it's not true. I would never do that to you." He sat down beside her, close enough that their legs were touching. She was a bit uncomfortable at his sudden proximity, but she manage to hide her unease if not from him, at least from the rest of the team. "I think, we need to talk," he added in a low voice so it was only audible to her.

"Yes, I guess we do," she answered just as silently. "But not today and not until after the weekend." She took a sip of her tea, thus avoiding to have to look at him anymore.

"Ah yes, the mysterious weekend. Are you going to tell me about it any time soon?" he asked teasingly, trying to ease the mood. "I'm really anxious to know, what nefarious intent you have in mind for me."

She was only too happy to follow his lead and leave the heavy topics for another time. And the whole matter of the weekend was more important at the moment anyway. Well, kind of. "Jane, do you know who Harry Mascarov is?"

He looked at her with complete disbelief. "Is that supposed to be a serious question, Lisbon? Honestly, woman. Who doesn't?"

They could hear someone clearing his throat in the background. "Well, apart from Rigsby, that is," Jane added with a smirk. "Not much of a chess player, are you, Rigs?" he teased the tall agent with a pointed look in the direction the harrumph had been originating from. "So, what about Mascarov, Lisbon?" he added, refocusing on her.

"He's in the US at the moment, promoting some book he's written. Something about how politics mimic chess and vice versa, as far as I know." She turned her head to get a better look at her consultant. His expression showed that she'd sparked his interest. "He'll be in Los Angeles this weekend. And smartass that you are, you probably also already know that he used to be part of some American governmental project about security policy." He nodded his acknowledgement. "Well, turns out Bertram knows someone who knows someone who's close to him, and so the director has managed to persuade Mascarov to be part of the CBI's annual fundraiser."

"Okay, I can follow you so far. But what has this got to do with me?" Jane asked in honest puzzlement.

"You know that Mascarov's still very popular here. Not so much for his books though, because who the hell bothers with reading boring books about chess?" At his incredulous expression she continued, "Well, apart from freaks like you, Jane." He grinned merrily at that. "Anyway, people prefer seeing him play, not hearing him read from some nerdy book."

She could see his eyes widen the moment he caught on to where this was leading. "No, Lisbon. No way. Forget it."

"Well, there's no way around it anymore, Jane. The moment word got out, the members of LA's high society practically fought each other for the chance at a ticket. There'll be a party-dinner after the event as well. And they'll even broadcast it on TV. Bertram's managed to secure fifty percent of all the advertising revenue. He's on cloud nine right now. He called it the biggest coup in the history of CBI fundraising."

Jane's face had blanched more and more while she spoke and he shook his head violently. Lisbon couldn't quell a grin at his obvious discomfort and decided to finish her tea in an attempt to conceal her mirth.

"No, Lisbon. There's no way I'm doing it. And it won't be much of an event. It'll probably be over in a matter of minutes. It's a stupid idea, really, and I won't do it," he insisted stubbornly.

Rigsby, who – like the rest of the team – had followed the development of the latest drama between their boss and their consultant with keen interest, chimed in at that point. "I don't get it. What's going on? What's the big deal with this Mascara-guy anyway?"

Cho answered his partner's question with one of his typical to-the-point explanations. "He's a former world chess champion, one of the chess grandmasters. Some consider him the best chess player of all times. The Boss wants Jane to play against him. And Jane's smart enough to know that Mascarov'll wipe the floor with him."

The consultant nodded his head in agreement and took a sip of his tea before he spoke again. "See, Lisbon. Even Cho concurs with me. This is an utterly stupid idea."

"I didn't say that," Cho objected. "I wouldn't mind watching someone smashing you, Jane. I'd even pay real money for it."

"That won't be necessary. The whole team's been invited to attend," Lisbon explained merrily.

Jane had started to become frantic beside her. "Wait a moment. I haven't agreed to any of this, and I sure as hell won't. This isn't gonna happen. I don't care, if they've already sold tickets. Even I'm realistic enough to know that they've paid to see Harry, not some hapless state employee." He got up from the couch and started pacing in front of it, his tea cup still in his hand. "I'm sure, it won't be a problem to find some local chess champion who'd love to get a chance to play the grandmaster."

She watched him with amusement. Maybe his ego was finally encountering some bounds after all? The thought made her smile, and she had to admit that she took more pleasure in his unease than she probably should. And in light of Cho's statement and the matching grins on the other agents' faces, she wasn't the only one who labored with unkind feelings towards the consultant at the moment. "Sit down, Jane. You're making me nervous with all that pacing. And it's certainly not going to help your case," she informed him matter-of-factly.

Jane continued with his fretful gesture and she had to stop herself from taking pity on him. He didn't deserve her sympathy and she would stay adamant, she chastised herself in her mind. "Jane, I asked you to sit down. Do it!" she ordered.

He stopped his movement and looked at her intently. When he realized that she really meant business, he let out an annoyed sigh and followed her request. "Happy now?" he asked sarcastically from his sitting position by her side.

"Ecstatic," she replied in a similar vein. Narrowing her eyes at him and using her most commanding voice she went on, "Maybe I didn't make this clear enough, but the matter is not up for discussion. This is a fundraiser for the CBI and as such, it would be absurd to ask some random chess player. Bertram seems convinced that you're the best man for the job and I tend to agree. Even at the risk of stroking your ego unnecessarily, but I'm rather sure, you're the best chess player the CBI employs. End of discussion."

"But Lisbon," he whined. "I know, I'm a capable player, but he is a grandmaster. I haven't played a single challenging match in years. Chess is a sport. You need training to stay in shape. And with all due respect-," he cast her a mock-apologetic look, "-sharing the occasional late-night match with you, my dear, isn't exactly the kind of exercise I'm talking about."

"Arrogant bastard," she murmured angrily. "Just for this one you deserve to be crushed by Mascarov. Maybe that'll teach you to be a bit more humble. Though I doubt that anything could ever faze you enough for that to happen."

She was relatively sure, she'd seen a very short glint of honest hurt in his eyes at her words, but only a second later his face showed one of his usual masks – one of the smug ones, which he knew she hated. His tone when he started speaking again, however, was cold and assertive. "I mean it, Lisbon. I'm NOT going to do it. Especially not in front of a TV audience. You might assume otherwise, but I'm not that masochistic. I guess I understand why you would all enjoy watching my complete humiliation, but I'm not going to provide you with that pleasure."

He got up from the couch once more, took hold of his tea cup and started to walk in the direction of the exit. Lisbon, who'd realized that he was really serious, got up as well, before her consultant had the chance to retreat to his sulking spot in the attic. "Jane, stop. My office. Now!"

He turned around and faced her with an expression devoid of any emotion. She didn't like it. It made her shudder with dread. She didn't know how, but in some way his reluctance was obviously connected with Red John, because this was one of the distinct looks reserved exclusively for the serial killer.

**)o()o()o(**

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**_Tuesday, still rather early in the morning – Lisbon's office, CBI HQ, Sacramento_**

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She was glad, she'd asked him to join her in her office, because this conversation clearly required some privacy. He followed her with great reluctance. She took a seat behind her desk and motioned for him to sit down in the visitor's chair opposite her. He placed his cup on her desk and complied. The way he sat there reminded her eerily of the two conversations they'd had in this very position a few weeks ago during the latest Lorelei debacle. His head was bend and he avoided her eyes. All in all, he resembled a boy in the principal's office who's undecided whether to be contrite or defiant.

He'd looked just the same when she'd found him in Julia Howard's house in Orchid Lane, but it was first now she allowed herself to take the time to reflect on it. She'd only focused on the defiant part back then, but now she could see clearly how truly conflicted he was. And considering that he had looked exactly like that those other times as well, it stood to reason, he had also been just as ambivalent during the previous occasions.

It certainly gave her food for thought, but now she had to address the matter at hand. "Jane, look at me and tell me, how this chess match could possibly be connected with Red John."

She realized, she'd surprised him again. He flinched and raised his head in astonishment. His brows were furrowed and he examined her carefully. "You're getting good at reading me, Lisbon. Bravo," he finally said in a patronizing voice that managed to put her on edge at once.

"Can't you abstain from being a jerk even for a moment, Jane? Sometimes I really don't know why I bother with you anymore. Why can't we just have an adult conversation for once?" she huffed.

"Ah, good old Lisbon. You've never been one to accept a compliment with grace. Too modest for it," he stated with a smirk.

She took a moment to rein in her emotions. Giving in to her anger now would play exactly into his cards. She wouldn't get anywhere with him like that. He had turned the whole deflecting-awkward-questions-thing into an art form after all. When she was sure her features were somewhat back under her control, she turned pleading eyes on him. "Please, Jane. Can you cut the crap for once and talk to me? I know what you're trying to do, but it won't work today."

He watched her with apprehension. She looked and sounded tired and defeated and he didn't like it at all. "I'm sorry," he said gently. "I know, I've been a lousy partner lately. And I wouldn't even mind being trounced by a grandmaster, knowing it would help you to alleviate some of your aggravation with me. But I can't do it."

"Then tell me why, Jane! It's just for fun and it'll raise a lot of money for a good cause. And even though people pay mostly just to see Mascarov, a lot of the allure derives from the fact that he'll play one of the employees of the Bureau."

His stubborn look didn't appear to recede at all. She sighed before continuing with hesitation, because part of her next words could be considered as stroking his ego once again while the rest could open Pandora's box. "You've been the most successful fundraiser ever since you started working here, and Bertram's very adamant about this whole thing. After that whole fiasco with Homeland Security taking over the Lennon-case, he's not happy with you."

He nodded his understanding of the situation and signaled for her to continue. "Well, to be frank, Jane, your job is on the line this time. The director is very close to terminating your contract. He told me, he doesn't trust you to have the CBI's best interest at heart anymore." Jane interrupted her with a snort, which made her roll her eyes, "Yes, Jane, I've always known that you don't give a damn about the Bureau and I can live with that. But now I have reason to doubt your commitment to my team, and I can't tolerate that."

She renewed the contact between their eyes and cast him a very serious look. He answered it with a sad, but knowing expression. She held on to the connection to make it clear how sincere he should take her next words. "So I'm forced to give you another ultimatum, Jane. Either you'll participate in that chess match or you're off the team. Your choice. It's as easy as that."

* * *

This time, he didn't even try to make a joke about her poker habits. He just lowered his head and fidgeted nervously with his fingers. "I… I can't," he stammered in a broken voice only daring to cast her a very furtive glance. "Please don't make me," he added even more subdued.

She felt sorry for him, she really did, even though she still couldn't see how this whole chess thing could be connected to Red John even remotely. But she'd made up her mind. She had to reassert her authority. She couldn't let him dictate her life anymore and she had to stand up to him, before she lost every last ounce of self-respect she owned. To him, her team might appear like nothing more than a bunch of tools to be used in his quest, but she wouldn't allow him to treat them like this anymore.

They all wanted to catch the serial killer and admittedly not strictly for merely professional reasons either at this point. But she couldn't watch him compromising his own integrity – and hers by means of association – any longer. He had to make some important decisions in that respect, and if this fundraising event had to be the catalyst for it, so be it. She hated to make him choose like this and she feared the outcome of his decision even more, but enough was enough.

It would hurt like hell, should he decide he had to leave, but she had to stop burying her head in the sand and pretend the problem would disappear if she just ignored it long enough. She wasn't usually like that, but with Jane, well… She knew, she was hopelessly entangled with him.

And lately, the repressed emotions of nearly nine years of acquaintance with him seemed to be determined to leave their hiding place in the furthest recesses of her mind and break through the surface and out into the open. Which brought her thoughts back to the Talk, they needed to have soon – or not, if he decided to go against her now.

She noticed that he watched her intently, while all these thoughts flashed through her head. And she was sure that he'd been able to recognize quite a few of them on her face. This time she didn't mind it at all. He was supposed to understand that she meant business, that she wasn't willing to play push-over anymore.

And sure enough, he finally nodded his head reluctantly after a few minutes of awkward silence. "Okay. I'll do it," he conceded, albeit with an air of resignation she didn't relish as much as she might have expected she would. And she didn't like his hunched posture and deeply sad eyes either.

Still, she breathed out in obvious relief at his submission to her authority. "Jane, I'm sorry it had to come to this," she told him with honest regret. "But you've left me with no other choice. I had to make sure that your priorities are still within the realms of what is acceptable for me." She tried to lessen the harshness of her words with a warm smile. "You know, I'm willing to go very far in my support of you, but there're lines I can't cross." In a softer voice she added, "Not even for you."

With the same broken, subdued voice she'd heard him use several times during the Lorelei situation he answered, "I understand, Lisbon. Really, I do. And I'm sorry I've forced your hand like this." He lifted his head a bit, eyeing her warily while he continued, "I still don't think this is a good idea. It's only been two weeks. I really don't think I should flaunt myself in front of TV cameras at this point." He pleaded with his eyes. "You saw it, didn't you? He… I mean, she… she was placed on a stage, Lisbon." His voice broke completely when he went on, so his words were nothing more than a whisper, "He put her on a stage for me to find, to taunt me with my past."

* * *

Comprehension dawned on her. His reluctance to participate in the chess match started to make perfect sense now. "Oh, Jane," she said with compassion. "I'm so sorry, I didn't make the connection. I mean, I realized that he was sending you a message. With all the carnival equipment at the scene it was hard to miss." Her expression was really apologetic now and her voice rather sheepish. "But I didn't consider your previous experiences with TV appearances when I talked to Bertram. I'm afraid, it's too late to stop it at this point, I'm really sorry, Jane."

He nodded once again in understanding and made a visible effort to regain his poise. "Hell, who knows, he might just take pleasure from watching my public humiliation. Something you can share with him for once," he tried to joke, but his attempt fell a bit short this time and the smile he'd plastered on his face didn't even come close to reaching his eyes. He lowered his head again afterwards and took a sudden interest in his fingernails. "I guess that was in bad taste."

She shook her head in exasperation. "Jane, please stop mimicking a beaten puppy. It wasn't exactly the best joke you've ever made, but I'm not that touchy either and you know it. I'll even grant you points for effort."

He looked up again, rather tentative, but with a genuine smile this time. "Are we okay, Lisbon?"

The senior agent sighed heavily. "I wouldn't call it that, yet, Jane. But I hope we'll be. Soon."

Her consultant nodded once again, his shoulders still hunched and his posture indicating a sense of defeat. She'd never seen him that open in his body language, at least not in a candid way. Usually he used his gestures to manipulate his opponents, but right now she was convinced for the first time in a long time that she was allowed to see a glint of his unaltered mental state. And his next words confirmed this.

"For what it's worth. I'm truly sorry we're so at odds right now. And I know that it's my fault entirely." He lifted his head another smidge and looked her straight in the eyes with sincerity. "It was never my intention to hurt you, Lisbon. I want you to know that. If you can't trust me with anything else, please trust me on this one. I know that I did it anyway, but it was never meant to happen."

"I believe you, Jane. And I know we have to have a serious talk one of these days. But I'm not ready yet." Changing her voice from grave to teasing she added, "Maybe I'll be, after I've seen your ego being thoroughly trampled down on Saturday."

"Yeah, I bet, you'll enjoy that." He grinned at her. "What are the specifics anyway? I'm familiar enough with Bertram's way of thinking to know that he's not daft enough to try and sell tickets for one match that's hardly going to last for more than a few minutes."

"Firstly, it won't be an outright speed match, so if you take your time in between moves, you might be able to prolong the inevitable." She smirked at him evilly and was delighted to hear him chuckle in response to her slight. "And secondly, it will be a 'first one to three' contest, so you'll have enough time to thoroughly savior the feeling of your total defeat and humiliation."

"I appreciate your obvious concern for my well-being," he replied cheerily. "I'm certain, it'll give the people of California a comforting sense of security to see a member of the highest ranking police agency in the state being made a fool of in public. Generous donations aplenty are almost guaranteed after that. If you add the little detail of me actually being a part of the team with the highest closing rate, even Red John might be inclined to contribute out of sheer pity." He added a histrionic groan for good measure.

Lisbon couldn't stop herself from laughing out loud at that point. And it felt incredibly liberating. They both ended up grinning at each other like loons and for the first time in weeks she felt like they would really be okay.

"Don't count on my help for the rest of the week, Lisbon," he announced a moment later. "I'll be very busy. And I'll need a laptop. I have to prepare for a match. The honor of the CBI is at stake."

"And yours, I presume." She snickered once more. "Can't promise you anything apart from a computer though. It's up to the criminals whether they want to grant you some peace or not." This last part was added to make it clear to him that she expected him to contribute to the daily work again from now on and that she wouldn't allow his continued absence anymore. He'd spent too much time on his pet project and holed up in the attic as it was. She knew, he'd be able to read the double entendre from her statement with ease and he didn't disappoint her, if his sheepish expression and nod were any indication.

"Maybe we could play a match or two one evening?" he inquired hopefully.

Her eyes turned warm and she felt a sense of well-being in her body that had been absent for weeks. "Even though I'm not much of a challenge?" she retorted teasingly.

"Well, you'll have to do, I guess. Not much in the way of a live human challenge anywhere nearby. So since I'm in dire straits here, you'll have to serve as the next best thing," he teased her back.

She cast him a fake death glare. "Now I feel really appreciated, Jane. Just you wait. I'm gonna beat you one of these days."

"Hope is such a powerful and beautiful emotion, Lisbon. Don't ever give up on it, even after I've smashed you again and again and again," he mocked her.

"Arrogant jerk! I'm just glad, you'll get your comeuppance on Saturday," she retorted defiantly. "We'll see, how mighty you'll feel then."

"Ah. But then again, I don't entertain even the tiniest bit of hope, hence my disappointment won't exactly be that big. I'll try to meet my Waterloo with as much dignity as possible," he replied with an air of superiority.

This time she didn't take offense. Her mood was too good right now and she enjoyed their banter too much to be miffed by his antics. And furthermore, she knew that he wasn't quite as arrogant as he tried to make people believe. At times she was rather convinced that under all his bravado, he was actually a deeply insecure individual. But it was hard to know with him…

* * *

"We'll fly down to LA already on Friday night. There'll be all kinds of important meet and greet things going on for most of Saturday and Bertram wants us all to attend." Her face showed openly her disgust at the whole concept of this part of fundraising. She hated to make small-talk with people she didn't know and didn't even want to know.

In her daily work she mostly had to deal with VIPs only when they were dead, and she quite liked it that way. The victims' relatives tended to be bad enough, acting like they deserved special treatment. On those occasions, she was actually kind of glad she had Jane. While she always had to maintain her professional behavior and was forced to endure insults and rudeness, her consultant knew no such bounds. She often enjoyed his way of taking down self-important people a peck or two, and had a very hard time dressing him down for it afterwards. He always took it in stride, because he knew when she really meant business and when she scolded him to keep up appearances. Sometimes he brought it up and teased her with it, sometimes he just cast her a knowing look.

A lot of their communication was non-verbal. Maybe not too surprising considering her consultant's special abilities, or maybe it was, because she could read him too – at least relatively well. Though admittedly probably only when he allowed her to.

"On a positive note: We'll be treated to rooms in a really upscale hotel, the same place the whole event will take place," she added, but he could see clearly that she only considered this a very small consolation.

He grinned at her discomfort at the thought of mingling with rich suckers. It seemed he wouldn't be the only one suffering that weekend. And speaking of suffering he stated, "I won't be needing a room. I can spend the nights in Malibu."

She cast him an incredulous look and then her brows furrowed angrily. "No, you won't," she told him with finality.

"Why ever not? Just think of all the precious money it would save the CBI. Bertram might even declare me employee of the month for it," he replied merrily.

"Jane," was the only word she said in response and in a sad voice.

"Yes, Lisbon?" he challenged her with raised brows.

She pursed her lips and put a strand of hair behind her ear in an attempt to play for time before she had to come out and vocalize her thoughts. Damn the man for forcing the issue, even though she knew that he knew what she meant.

She looked at him in defiance. "Fine. Since you obviously want me to say it: I don't want you to spend time in that mausoleum."

He actually flinched at her harsh words and a shadow of pain fell over his face, but he collected himself immediately. "Ouch, Lisbon," he answered with fake cheerfulness.

But she didn't let him deter her from talking sense into him this time. "You wanted me to say it and I did. Live with it. And isn't it enough self-flagellation already that you spend your days and nights holed up in that god-awful man-cave of yours up in the attic? When was the last night you actually used a real bed to sleep in?"

"Wow, Lisbon. What do you want me to say to that?" he asked, shoulders hunched. "Maybe that I prefer couches anyway?" he added with a mirth that was so obviously forced that Lisbon didn't need to be a mentalist to see through it.

"I don't want you to say anything, Jane. Just be honest with me or at least with yourself for once," she replied carefully and with compassion.

He released a heavy breath and looked up at her with the expression he always wore when talking about his pet project. She hated it with a passion. "You know, I've been busy creating that list of possible names. I just don't have the time for mundane things. Why bother leaving for the night and waste valuable time? I hardly sleep anyway. And it's still the only tangible lead I have in the Red John case, and until Lennon regains consciousness it'll stay that way. You know that."

She sighed in resignation. "You know what, Jane? You win. I give up. I don't have the energy to have this pointless argument with you anymore. Do whatever it is you think you have to do. You won't listen anyway." With a sad look at him she added, "You obviously prefer to be miserable and alone. Who am I to stand in your way? You don't let people care for you and I'm tired of trying. I don't know, why I still maintain the illusion that you want me as your partner, when it's so obvious that you don't heed any of my advice." And in a lower tone she continued, "Sometimes I feel like I'm nothing more than a pesky mosquito to you, one that keeps interfering with your grand plan." She averted her eyes avoiding contact with him.

"I'm sorry," he said. "I…"

"You keep saying that, but I don't think you really are, Jane," she interrupted him. "At least not for the right reasons."

"I've really screwed it up this time," he stated more to himself than to her, his head bent forward. But then he seemed to come to a decision. He sat up straighter and his voice was firm. "Lisbon, please look at me." With great reluctance she did as he asked. She found his expression to be unguarded and open and she was relatively sure it wasn't a mask. "You are not just a pesky nuisance to me, Teresa. Far from it. It might seem as if I dismiss your suggestions, but I take everything you say into careful consideration. I might not follow your advice very often, but it influences my decisions. Never doubt that."

He sighed. "I know, I'm a selfish bastard and that I have a tendency to place my quest for vengeance above other matters. But you…" He paused and took a deep breath. "I do value our relationship and I consider you to be me partner or rather my friend actually. I really appreciate what you're doing for me, Lisbon. I know, my behavior doesn't reflect that, but it's true nonetheless." With pleading and urgency in his eyes he added, "Please don't give up on me."

* * *

"I won't, at least not yet," she whispered. "But I'm more afraid that you've given up on yourself, Jane." She examined him sadly.

"What do you mean?" he inquired with confusion.

She locked eyes with him and spoke as urgently as she could, "You're a good man, Jane. I've always firmly believed that. But lately, you're losing yourself in this game you're playing with Red John. Look at yourself. You tried to justify torture to me a month ago! What's next? Will you be the one to actually perform it next time? When will you cross a line from where there's no turning back? Where do you draw the line anyway? I'm not sure I know you anymore. I'm not sure to trust you not to do something so unforgivable that I can't work with you any longer." Her gaze turned beseeching and her voice pleaded with him. "I don't want to lose you to that monster, Jane. I don't want you to turn into that monster."

"You think, that's gonna happen?" he asked in honest shock.

"I think it's possible, yes. You've been walking a very fine line for years and it's getting thinner and thinner," she explained truthfully.

He nodded thoughtfully. "I hear you, Lisbon," he finally said.

"I'm glad you do, Jane."

"She said practically the same thing to me," he mumbled barely audible a moment later.

Lisbon eyed him with a puzzled expression. "Who?"

"Lorelei. When we met in Orchid Lane. She said, she didn't want my help and that she had to continue on her own. That she'd done unforgivable things. That there was no turning back for her, but that she hoped that I travel on a different road," he told her hesitantly, well aware that this was a very touchy subject between them.

She followed his explanation with astonishment. Yes, it hurt her to hear him talking about that woman, but this time her amazement outweighed her other feelings. "I… she, she honestly cared about you," she stammered. "She actually cared about you!" She shook her head to clear her jumbled thoughts. "That's the real reason why she didn't tell you his name and broke her promise. Wow! I never would have guessed that." She looked at him in complete surprise.

"No. She just wanted the revenge for herself," he objected.

"I don't believe that. If she told you all those things, it means that she cared about you. And if she did, she wanted to save you from a fate like hers," Lisbon told him with conviction. "I only ever wanted to see her as the mistress of a serial killer, but there was more to her than that. I can see that now. Maybe your trust wasn't as misplaced as I originally assumed. She was still a woman and she cared for you. That's why she wanted to save you." At his disbelieving look she added quietly. "Believe me, I know the feeling."

She blushed and averted her eyes. This was getting dangerously close to the Talk, she wasn't quite ready to have with him. In an attempt to divert the conversation from this loaded issue, she decided to ask him about the details of what had transpired in Jason Lennon's house. "You never really told me what happened at Lennon's, Jane. All I know are the facts you gave Kirkland, and somehow I doubt you gave him more than the absolute basics."

* * *

His mind was still reeling from the insights that Lisbon had revealed not just about Lorelei, but about her own feelings as well. This was dangerous territory. They had to speak about all of it at some point in the near future, but Lisbon had told him repeatedly that she wasn't ready yet. Not that he was either. But he knew he had to explain himself a bit more, especially when it came to the nature of his feelings for Lorelei. Unfortunately, Lisbon's last question wouldn't exactly help deflecting the issue. Quite the contrary actually.

"I'm not sure, you really want to know, Lisbon," he finally said in a resigned voice.

She looked put out. "Why ever not? I should actually. I'm your boss after all." She took in his pained expression and finally understood what was keeping him from telling her. Something more had transpired between Lorelei and him and he didn't want to hurt her with the details.

This was not acceptable. Now that she had allowed herself to realize that the other woman had still been a human being with some left-over decency and that she actually seemed to have shared a common goal with herself, she knew she would also be able to come to terms with whatever had happened between her and Jane. It touched her a bit that her consultant wanted to spare her from further pain, but she was a big girl and didn't need his protection. Even though she wasn't ready to have that Talk yet, she sensed that it wouldn't be much longer before she would be willing to have it.

"It's alright, Jane. I'm okay with hearing it. You don't need to try and spare my feelings. And I would really like to know. I…" she paused for a moment before she continued softly, "I think it would help me to better understand everything."

He nodded. "Okay. It's your call."

* * *

And then he proceeded to tell her what had happened from the time he'd called her to the final moments between Lorelei and him. "When Lennon had revealed the truth, I asked her to tell me Red John's name. She said, I should ask Lennon, because she needed a head start and he was weak-minded anyway. She continued to pack her things and I reminded her of our agreement. She told me she wasn't keeping it and that she'd done much worse than that and turned to leave. I grabbed her arm and tried to detain her departure and…" He had to stop at this point, because he simply didn't know how to continue without hurting the woman in front of him.

She might've asked for the truth, but this would just reinforce her notion that he had feelings of a romantic nature for Lorelei. It was complicated or rather complex. He couldn't deny that he'd found her appearance appealing enough. But their one and only sexual encounter hadn't been about anything but the con. He'd known exactly who he was sleeping with and why Red John had created this little test for him. The bastard had kept a pretty close eye on him and had known that he had stayed faithful to his wife for all those years. And to convince the monster that he'd truly given up, it had been necessary to sacrifice this last connection to Angela.

So that night had been nothing but an act – in every sense of the word. He thought he'd performed adequately. It had obviously been convincing enough to satisfy both Lorelei – again, in every sense of the word – and Red John and to assure them of his seriousness. All in all, the whole matter had only been bearable for him emotionally, because he had believed the end would justify the means.

He didn't have any firsthand experience, but he imagined that the sex had been a lot like what one would have with a prostitute, and in many ways Lorelei had been exactly that. She'd been sent to him by her pimp, had done what Red John had asked her to do. Only difference: she'd actually been the one to pay money for it, namely his bail.

When she'd blatantly called him lover throughout the interrogations after her apprehension it had been nothing but a provocation, directed mainly at Lisbon. And it had confirmed his suspicions, that both Lorelei and Red John knew about his close bond with his boss. Asking for Lisbon's dead body had been a strong indicator as well, but Lorelei's attempts to drive a wedge between Lisbon and him had been the final proof.

Needless to say that he hadn't harbored any positive feelings for the mistress of his nemesis at that point. All he'd wanted was to break and turn her, and he'd had to play along with her charade of them being lovers. But since the Feds had abducted her so soon after her capture, he hadn't been granted enough time to gain her trust. In hindsight he had to admit that he might not have succeeded that way in any case, but that was a moot point now.

Anyway, this had been exactly the state of affairs at the time he'd broken her out of prison, or rather Stiles had done so for him. Their reunion had been devoid of any kind of favorable feeling on his part, and she hadn't been too happy to see him either. During the time they'd spent together something had changed though. The night they'd camped out at the beach had been the turning point for him.

She'd made sure to keep her distance from him until then, making it blatantly clear that their sexual encounter hadn't meant anything to her beyond satisfying her master. And he would've been completely alright with it if not for the little fact that he'd originally deemed their night in Vegas his only entrance ticket to her trust.

He'd been wrong and he'd realized that quickly during their drive up to the ocean. From the moment he'd changed tactics and pretended to stop manipulating her she'd come to him of her own volition, which had been a much better outcome than he'd hoped for.

First, they'd shared that meaningful moment watching the sails disappearing in the sunset. He'd recognized her longing for freedom, when she'd wondered where the boats were going. That's when he'd understood that they were both victims of the same man, had both been robbed of their liberty by the same psychopath. It had caused him to see her as more than a stepping stone to Red John.

Later, during the night when he'd sensed her petite form snuggling up to him beside the campfire in an act of tentative trust, counting on him not to exploit the situation, he'd felt the first tendrils of real sympathy and warmth for her.

Still, there hadn't been any romantic feelings involved. Seeing her taking a bath in the nude hadn't done anything for him other than confirming that she'd started to feel at least somewhat comfortable around him. He'd nearly blown it though, when he'd cold-read her during their ride afterwards. Leaving the key in the car while buying some necessary items for them had been his – successful – attempt to regain her trust.

He hadn't known about her sister at that point. But when she'd told him about her, he'd gotten at once, how Red John had managed to convert her, exploiting her moment of weakness and vulnerability. After his short talk with Lisbon on the phone learning about the cruel fate of Lorelei's sister at the hands of that monster his disgust and hatred for the serial killer had increased yet another notch if possible. How completely perverted, deprived of even the slightest spark of human decency must that bastard really be? Not that this was news to him, but the level of sheer ruthlessness still had the capacity to shock him.

And yes, his sympathy with Lorelei had also grown in light of this new information. He'd even felt some sense of tenderness and an urge to protect her, because she'd been through a trauma he himself was very much familiar with.

Not even her physical attack on him, after she'd realized he'd omitted to tell her that she'd supposedly kidnapped him, had been able to change that. And in light of what he'd watched her doing to Julia Howard and now that he knew what she would've truly been capable of, she'd merely given him a friendly slap in comparison anyway.

That she'd accused him of being just like Red John had hurt, even if it had led to that slip-up of hers that still was his best lead in the case. Becoming just like the monster he was chasing was a secret fear of his, one he'd never shared with anyone (and Lisbon had reinforced this fear with her words today). He was realistic enough to know that he was walking on a dangerous path. Being told this by someone who actually knew both him and Red John personally had deeply unsettled him.

But he hadn't allowed himself to focus on it at that moment. He'd rather zoomed in on her admission that her master was a manipulator and her obvious anger at the fact. It had showed him, that she wasn't as firmly in Red John's camp as he'd feared.

It had decided his next cause of action, namely setting her free to come to her own conclusions. Before that, she'd tested his trust as well sending him up to the cabin on his own, which could easily have been a trap. He'd followed his gut instinct at the time and relied on the dawning of doubts about her master he'd sensed in her. A kind of agreement had been forged between them afterwards, the very one she'd broken about four weeks ago.

And then she'd kissed him. He hadn't really returned it, not fully that is, and he'd broken it relatively fast. At least to him, and he was rather sure this held true for Lorelei as well, it hadn't been about any romantic feelings between them. It had only been some kind of confirmation of their connection, their bargain. Like a thin thread of mutual trust being spun between them, sealed with a kiss. It had held a promise.

Their last kiss in Lennon's house, the one he was not comfortable telling Lisbon about at the moment, hadn't been like that. Well, it did hold some similarities, but it had had a very different purpose, or better: purposes. Because he knew, it hadn't meant the same to Lorelei as it had meant to him. They'd both entered into it with a sense of desperation and they'd both known it meant goodbye. But while she'd been in a state of something like euphoria at the thought of avenging her sister's murder, he'd known that the next time he'd see her she would be dead and it would be at the scene of her murder at the hands of Red John. Though he'd still held a slight hope he might be able to prevent it, until she'd turned around and shot Lennon the moment their lips had stopped touching.

Mentalist or not, he had to admit that he hadn't seen that one coming. She'd caught him completely by surprise with it and until today he'd firmly believed that Lorelei had played him the whole time and had wanted to deprive him of his own revenge. He'd assumed that since she'd manage to throw him a curve with Lennon, she'd been able to pull the wool over his eyes the rest of the time as well. He'd thought that Lisbon had been right all along and that his involvement – though it wasn't romantic at all – with Lorelei had clouded his judgment so much, he'd been totally blinded to the reality of things.

But today, Lisbon had thrown him for another loop with her insistence that Lorelei had actually tried to save him from becoming what he feared: a callous monster with no heed for others, only hell-bent on vengeance.

That cast a whole new light on the meaning of that last kiss as well, because before it had happened, Lorelei had been about to leave and it hadn't looked like she had planned to shoot Lennon. Had the kiss caused her to act that way? Was Lisbon right? Had Lorelei really, honestly cared for him? And had their final kiss led to her resolve to save him from himself?

This had him really stumped. Had the very act that he'd assumed to be the ultimate proof of his utter foolishness for trusting the mistress of a serial killer actually been a token of the opposite?

* * *

It was first at this point that he realized he'd zoned out from his talk with Lisbon for at least ten minutes while sorting through his relationship - or whatever one wanted to call it – with Lorelei. And he might not have noticed it for a while longer, if it hadn't been for the next words coming out of his partner's mouth. "Yes, Jane, she did care for you. I'm absolutely sure of it now."

He flinched violently and it suddenly dawned on him that he'd in fact let his guard down so completely for once, that he hadn't even noticed he'd actually vocalized his thought process with Lisbon as the unintentional witness.

It was a habit of his to vocalize things while contemplating, it helped him sort things out. But usually he made damn sure he did it only in the security of his attic hide-out or another place where he couldn't be overheard.

This was not good. Completely embarrassing, no humiliating. He didn't dare looking up at Lisbon, too aghast at his loss of control. He'd practically stripped himself naked in front of his boss/partner/friend – or whatever title she'd allow him to use for her these days. He'd revealed his deepest, darkest secrets, a lot of which had a great potential of hurting her, let alone disgust her.

"You weren't supposed to hear that," he finally pressed out, still examining the flooring beneath his feet rather than her, while squirming in his chair.

She chuckled. "I know."

* * *

She was enjoying his discomfort. This had been the most enlightening fifteen minutes she had ever experienced - at least with him - and though he might think that he'd destroyed their friendship, nothing could be further from the truth: she was ecstatic!

For once she'd been granted insight into his mind, and his recount of the time he'd spent with Lorelei Martins had alleviated so many of her fears that she felt like dancing. And it hadn't just revealed to her the true nature of his feelings for that woman, no, it had first and foremost given her the chance to see HIM for once, without masks, without any subterfuge, without reservations.

And she'd liked what she'd found behind the curtain and she had to admit that she relished the fact that he'd been the one to lose control for once. And not just a little either… He'd been so deeply lost in his own world that he'd blanked out his surroundings completely.

She knew, he'd beat himself up over this. Mr. Aloof-and-Self-Control had pulled a number on himself this time. But she liked to think that what it also showed was his ease around and trust in her. She was relatively certain that this wouldn't have happened to him otherwise. He was too aware to let something like this occur under different circumstances and when it could actually hurt him.

"Why didn't you stop me? It would have been the decent thing to do," he asked with a slightly accusing tone to his voice.

"Are you mad? Why the hell would I have done that? You aren't granted insight into Patrick Jane's mind that often, you know," she replied with mirth.

He groaned. "I think, I've corrupted you, Agent Lisbon." He still didn't look up and she didn't like it.

"You sure have. But usually you don't complain about that, namely not when I support you during one of your totally illegal schemes." She changed her voice from teasing to tender, before she added, "Jane, look at me please."

He cast her a furtive glance.

"No, really, Jane. Look at me."

This time he obeyed her request and lifted his head so their eyes were level. He looked ashamed and insecure.

"Nothing you said will leave this room, Jane, you know that, don't you?" she asked carefully.

He nodded and averted his eyes again.

She sighed. "I'm very glad, you shared your thoughts with me, even though it wasn't entirely voluntarily," she said warmly.

"Not entirely voluntarily?" he asked with raised brows. "More like totally involuntarily."

"You don't believe that, do you? You, Mr. Jane? Mastermind, firm supporter of the power of the subconscious?" She raised her brows as well. "We both know that some part of you wanted me to hear all that. Don't try to deny it."

"Okay. So maybe I wanted to share my innermost secrets with you, Lisbon," he said, sarcasm dripping from every word, before he continued with a voice devoid of any discernible emotion, "I'm not all that convinced this is true, but let's assume it for a moment. Where do we go from here?"

Well, obviously he wasn't ready to admit it yet. She could live with that. Now that she had a better idea where they really stood, she was in no hurry to explore their entanglement any further and risk destroying their friendship in the process.

"Now, I'll continue with my paperwork and you'll do whatever you were doing before, probably napping. Or should you feel a bit more adventurous, you'll read one of those boring chess books. Might do you some good. And on Friday we'll go to LA, enjoy that fancy hotel, have a nice team dinner courtesy of the CBI, and on Saturday you'll wipe that grandmaster's ass at the chess board, or rather the other way around," she explained. The last part was accompanied by a devious smirk.

He snorted. "Alright. Let's just forget the last twenty minutes. Business as usual. I can live with that."

"No, Jane. I sure as hell won't pretend this didn't happen. I just think that we should let it stand as it is for the time being. And I'll certainly need a while to stomach all this new, groundbreaking information," she told him carefully, while she tried to convey the warmth she felt for him with her eyes.

He watched her intently for a long minute. She almost started to squirm under his scrutiny, but finally he seemed satisfied with what he could read from her body language. "So, are we okay now, Lisbon?" he asked tentatively afterwards.

"Yes, Jane, we're okay now. More than okay."

She smiled at him and he returned it.

"Good," he said getting up from his chair. He retrieved his empty tea cup from her desk and turned to leave her office.

When he had nearly crossed the entrance, she addressed him one last time, "Jane?"

He turned to face her with a curious expression. "Yes, Lisbon?"

"Thank you for your trust," she said sincerely, though her eyes held a very teasing glint.

"Don't mention it," he replied and the double entendre of the statement didn't escape her at all.

She shot him an understanding grin, which she found mirrored on his lips for a second, before he left - for good this time.

**)o()o()o(**

* * *

**TBC in Check-Mates - Part Two**


	2. Chapter 2

**Check-Mates – Part Two**

**)o()o()o(**

**_Saturday, early afternoon – Ballroom, Fritz Charlston Hotel, Los Angeles_**

* * *

"It hasn't been too bad so far," senior agent Lisbon quietly told her partner in crime, CBI consultant Patrick Jane, while they were mingling with the high and mighty of Los Angeles. "I knew, it would be my best bet to stay attached to your side. If there's one thing you're good at it's sucking up to the rich."

"I'll take that as a compliment, though I still have to object: I'm a man of many talents, Agent Lisbon," he whispered suggestively into her ear, making her shudder.

They had to stop their banter/flirting at that point, because Director Bertram approached them with yet another VIP in tow they were obviously meant to make nice with. When they came closer, Jane could identify the man at their boss's side as his opponent for the evening.

"Agent Lisbon, Jane. May I introduce you to our guest of honor, Mr. Harry Mascarov. Harry, this is the leader of our Serious Crimes Unit, Senior Agent Teresa Lisbon, and our consultant Patrick Jane. He's the one you'll be playing against later. How about you acquaint yourselves with each other a bit? I'm afraid I have to leave. Senator Flemmings is about to arrive. See you later."

Bertram left them standing there and it could've turned awkward fast if not for Jane's people skills. "Ah, nice to meet you, Mr. Mascarov. I'm looking forward to our little contest tonight. May I tell you, that what you said in your last book about the parallels between the Evans-Gambit and the political practices in the US Senate…"

He was interrupted rudely by the Russian grandmaster, "Listen, Janet or whatever your name is, and listen well. I'm only doing this because there's someone I seriously owe a favor to. Don't think for a moment that I'll enjoy wasting my time playing with a complete nobody. It's nothing but a cumbersome imposition for me and frankly, I'm insulted they didn't even try to find me a half-decent opponent for this. And incidentally, I have no patience for any simpering compliments about my books."

Lisbon groaned inside her mind and thought: wrong move, very wrong move, Mr. Mascarov.

"Actually, I was about to tell you that I've never read such a bulk of utter bullshit in my life, Mr. Mascarov. I fully understand why you have no intention of discussing this uninspired piece of balderdash with anyone. What is there to say anyway? I guess we'll meet again in a few hours. Until that time: enjoy yourself. And it's Jane, Mr. Mascarov. You better remember that." The consultant's voice had been cold and menacing and he'd obviously gotten the chess champion's attention. The arrogant man seemed on the verge of punching Jane.

The senior agent sighed with dread. The battle line had been drawn and the Russian player had just made an enemy of the wrong man. She decided to pull her consultant away before things could escalate any further.

* * *

"Well, that was fun," Jane commented when they were alone again.

She rolled her eyes and warned him, "Play nice, Jane."

"Oh come on, Lisbon. You can't expect me to just let that priggish fool insult me like that."

"Takes one to know one," she murmured to herself, well aware that he'd probably heard her anyway.

He cast her a withering look. "I feel a sudden urge to mingle on my own. See you later." With that said he left her standing alone in the middle of the ballroom, and she could see him starting an animated discussion with a high-ranking member of the Department of Justice as if it was the easiest thing in the world. For him it probably was.

She cursed him, because she knew that he knew that she hated to be left to her own devices at functions like this. But she'd brought this onto herself, she had to admit. Slighting him when he was already in a mood was certainly not a clever move.

Sighing she looked around the room trying to locate a member of her team in the crowd. She finally spotted all three of her agents standing and talking together not far from the bar and went over to join them. "Prepare for things to get nasty tonight," she said in way of greeting. "Mascarov just had the audacity to mortally offend our beloved consultant."

The Homicide Team of CBI's Serious Crimes Unit released a collective groan of dismay and dread.

**)o()o()o(**

* * *

**_Saturday, early in the evening – Ballroom, Fritz Charlston Hotel, Los Angeles_**

* * *

About a dozen TV cameras were placed strategically around a table, two comfy looking chairs completed the ensemble. On all sides starting approximately ten feet behind this set-up several rows of seats were arranged in a way that allowed their occupants a clear view of the spectacle about to happen in the middle.

Somehow Lisbon's team had managed to be considered guests of honor, which earned them places in the first row.

Their fifth teammate was currently in a secluded location being outfitted for his participation in the main event of the evening. As the match would be broadcasted, he'd to endure a make-up session in addition to getting equipped with the necessary technical paraphernalia. To his satisfaction, the producer had approved of his charcoal three-piece-suit whole-heartedly but had an assistant ironing his white shirt.

Patrick Jane suffered all this fuss with astonishing grace considering that he hated such situations like the pest and avoided them as much as possible. The few times he'd made an appearance on TV after that fateful one nearly ten years ago, which had resulted in the greatest nightmare of his life, he'd always made sure that he dictated the rules: he came so late, nobody had the chance to style him or go over any kind of script with him. He came and did his thing (usually solving a crime) and went his merry way again afterwards.

This time he only protested – and VERY authoritative – when one of the make-up artists suggested to gel back his hair. Never ever would he allow anyone to model his hair into anything that could remind him of his time as a fake psychic, and most certainly not in front of TV cameras. He drew the line there, a very distinct one and if anyone had a problem with it, well, then there wouldn't be any chess game with him as one of the opponents. No one had had the guts to contradict him after his one and only word on the subject, "No!"

The reason for his otherwise exemplary conduct was simple: Harry Mascarov irked him and accordingly he had other battles to fight tonight – and chess would only be one little part of it.

* * *

At a quarter to 6, the TV host for the evening started his introductions of the two players together with a very self assured and complacent looking CBI director. Jane almost gagged in the background hearing the pompous Bertram singing his consultant's praise, knowing very well that the head of their bureau didn't hold much love for him, a feeling that was entirely mutual. But seeing a camera directed at him Jane smiled charmingly.

For his master plan to be successful it was important to gain the sympathy of the audience as soon as possible. Incidentally, in the looks department that Mascarov bastard couldn't hold a candle to him. Jane knew he was handsome enough and had a way with crowds. He'd earned his living with it for a long time after all. So winning over rich suckers was a piece of cake.

The images from the cameras would also be visible to the live audience. Several screens had been placed around the hall to guarantee that. And really, after only his first smile he could already hear several ohs and ahs, mainly from the females in the ballroom. This was turning out to be very satisfying indeed.

Jane nearly lost his cool when Bertram, that bastard, had the audacity to mention his 'tragic past', but he had the presence of mind to turn his reaction into another PR-performance. His sorrowful expression combined with the sad character of the information just revealed about him elicited a plethora of sympathetic murmurs throughout the hall. Yes, the audience was firmly on his side: Jane one, Mascarov zero.

Now he would only have to play the role of the likable underdog at the table for a while and things would be off to a promising start.

* * *

In her front row seat Lisbon buried her face in her hands in dismay. She realized from the moment she'd seen that first smile of her consultant on screen that this evening would end in disaster. She knew that particular expression. It didn't bode well for his opponent, and it didn't bode well for the CBI either she feared.

And then the director had made a major blunder: he'd mentioned Jane's family and their murder at the hands of Red John. Live. On TV.

Big, tactical error. Now, all bets were off. Jane wouldn't even pretend to have the CBI's best interest at heart anymore, why would he? Bertram had just proven to be completely disloyal to him after all, at least Jane would see it that way. And she couldn't even blame him for it, not really. That had been a low-blow, especially after she'd made sure to inform their boss explicitly about Jane's reservations to appear on TV so soon after the latest Red John situation.

She'd seen a glint of real pain in Jane's eyes, before her consultant had managed to put on his sad puppy-dog mask, the one hardly anyone, at least barely any female, could resist. Even she had to admit that she'd only achieved partial immunity and she'd had years of practice.

Van Pelt's desperate groan beside her told her that she wasn't the only one feeling dread right now. She removed her hands from her face and looked over to her male agents. Cho's usually stoic mask gave away a bit of worry, she noticed. She cast him a pained glance, and he nodded his acknowledgment. Rigsby munched happily on a handful of popcorn, completely oblivious to the disastrous events unfolding around him.

Sometimes she begrudged him his ignorance, today she felt more like strangling him. He caught her death glare and raised his brows in confusion. Van Pelt took pity on him and clued him in with a few whispered words. He looked rather sheepish afterwards and redirected his attention from the bowl in his lap to the closest screen.

Lisbon felt a sudden urge to bet how long it would last and when the temptation would become too strong for him with food so close by. Feeling a surge of fondness for her tall agent she gave him five minutes max. The thought lifted her mood considerably, and she was even able to return the honest little smile Jane cast at her in passing on his way to the chessboard in the middle of the ballroom. She was rather sure it had held an apologetic hint though, which brought her back to her worried state right afterwards.

* * *

The two opponents took their seats in front of the chessboard. Jane was given the slight advantage of the white pieces and opened the first match. They made a few moves each with Jane taking his time and contemplating before each of his. After a while he started some small talk with Mascarov in a light conversational tone. The other man certainly didn't appreciate it but couldn't very well refuse to answer in front of all the cameras.

"So, the beautiful lady in the front row to your right, that's your wife, isn't it, Harry?" Jane asked in a voice that anyone who didn't know him would deem extremely innocent and friendly.

Mascarov nodded.

"And the strapping lad at her side? That your son?" the CBI consultant went on.

"Yes, that's my son Michael. He's seven and he wouldn't have made the stupid move you just did, Jane," the chessmaster replied in a condescending tone, though the accompanying smile was benign and obviously meant to turn his remark into slight fun. He also waved in the direction of the boy for good measure.

Still, Jane rated it as at least another half point for him. No audience liked a snotty champion. "Oh! Did I do something stupid?" he asked, pretending to be worried and despaired. "I thought, I was doing alright so far. Have only lost, ehm, let me count, well, seven pieces. And not those very important ones either. Sorry." He looked like a hapless puppy, who had tried but failed to learn a trick its owner wanted to teach it.

"Well, seven, no eight pieces at this point in the game is quite a lot. But you wouldn't know that, would you?" Mascarov continued in a patronizing tone, while taking another of Jane's pawns, being utterly oblivious to the disgruntled looks it produced on the faces of the people in the hall.

Jane just gave him a blinding smile in return and nodded his head. "Sure. Didn't expect anything else. I'm playing against the best chess grandmaster in the world after all," he told him/the audience humbly and with admiration in his eyes. "You're one lucky man, Harry," he went on. "I mean, it must be so nice for you to have your beautiful family come and support you like that," he added dreamily, before a shadow of sadness darkened his features.

"I'm sure, no one banned you from bringing your own family as well today, Jane," the champion said without realizing what a heartless declaration he'd just made. He hadn't really been paying attention when his opponent had been introduced earlier. But the audience had and they were getting really agitated.

To the gasps of the on-lookers Jane managed to turn his face into an even more morose expression. "I wished that would be possible," he murmured just loud enough for the microphones to catch it. "Oh, how I wished that." He sighed heavily, though inside he calculated: Jane two, Mascarov zero.

That's when even the chessmaster had a moment of recognition. He remembered hearing some sob story about a murdered family half an hour ago and grasped that he'd just produced a major faux pas. Taunting someone with the absence of their dead relatives in front of an audience was a PR nightmare and his manager would ream him out good for that one. He decided to try with some damage control. "Oh, sorry. I didn't mean it like that. I'm just concentrating on the game and, ehm, kind of, well. Sorry anyway."

"Really? You have to concentrate while playing me?" Jane asked in fake astonishment. "That's just so, wow. Thanks for the compliment." The curly blond man produced a sunny smile, though he made sure it didn't reach his eyes, which remained tinged with sadness. "And I kind of have my family here too. See those people to our left in the front row over there? That's my team," he explained proudly. "They are the best agents in the CBI. And we spend so much time together, because there're just so many criminals out there and just so few people to catch them. Well, let's say, we're pretty busy. And when you spent 16, 18 hours a day with the same people, it's quite a bit like family," he added and this time he didn't need to fake the truthfulness in his voice.

This would hopefully shut up Bertram and would give him the necessary leeway for the rest of his plan from that corner. The cameras had followed his lead and showed his teammates for a long moment and fortunately, they'd realized it and produced slightly awkward but genuine smiles, which would doubtlessly win loads of sympathy. Always good to put a real, honest face to the abstract concept of law enforcement. The audience already loved him and now they would also love the surrogate family of the poor bereaved widower.

Jane made another completely inane move, one which would ultimately cement his defeat in the first match by checkmate in four moves, all the while sporting a hopeful expression. "This one's a challenge, isn't it?" he asked expectantly.

Mascarov groaned. This evening was turning more and more into a nightmare. That Jane guy was an even worse player than he'd feared and in addition he'd probably produced at least a minor PR catastrophe. How was he supposed to survive two more matches against that hapless idiot and his incessant babbling? Trying to stay as calm and friendly as possible he said, "I'm afraid not, Mr. Jane. That one was a rather big mistake actually." He mocked regret, but by now the audience was so firmly on Jane's side, they didn't believe it at all. "Checkmate in four moves, unfortunately," he announced.

"Oh, really?" Jane faked astonishment again. "And here I thought that it was so clever, because you can't capture my last knight."

"But I can actually get to your knight, Jane. Don't you see it?" Mascarov inquired disbelievingly.

Jane pretended to stare at the board with highest concentration. "Oops, of course!" he finally exclaimed. "How stupid. I always confuse the moves of the bishops and the knights." He shook his head over his own stupidity and tsked. "So your knight can capture my knight." And then he proceeded to analyze carefully and in a catchpenny way the last moves which would lead to his king being without defense as if just now seeing it. "Well, congratulations, Harry. I guess, the first one's on you," he said merrily afterwards and held out his right hand for a handshake.

With a forced smile Mascarov accepted the gesture and the host announced a ten minute break, before the next match would start. Both players got up and left for some refreshments.

**)o()o()o(**

* * *

Jane went over to the bar and asked for tea. While he waited, Bertram came up to him and whispered in agitation, "I don't know what you think you're doing, but even I could've played a better game than that."

"Why don't you take over for me then, Gale?" Jane asked cheerfully.

"Don't play your stupid games with me, Jane," the director hissed. "I want you to represent the CBI with pride and to show the people of California that we employ only the best to ensure their security."

The consultant only chuckled. "And you thought it a clever idea to do so by letting me play against a chess grandmaster?" he asked incredulously. "No one can possibly look smart in a fair match against an opponent of that pre-eminence. Don't tell me you didn't realize that." In an ominous tone he added, "And besides, this was just the first game."

Bertram gave his most difficult employee a skeptical once over. He felt a sense of unease at the sight of the devious expression lingering on Jane's face and decided to try a different approach. Confrontational never worked with that guy, it was better to appeal to his ego. "At least it was well done, how you deflected that slightly aggravating situation back there. Good move to involve Lisbon's team." He patted the other man's shoulder in an awkward attempt to convey both approval and comfort.

Fortunately, Jane's tea was handed to him at that point or things might've turned ugly. Bertram had just overstepped a line which he should've been very well aware of: the consultant didn't take kindly to unwanted physical contact. Their very first meeting should've made that clear once and for all, but dishonest gestures like that were so much second nature to the politician that he produced them automatically without thinking. So luckily for him he was spared from the fate of having the smell of dead mice as a constant companion whenever wearing a suit by the arrival of Earl Grey. He was only exposed to a deathly glare, before the backside was the only part of his consultant he could still see from the retreating man.

* * *

Tea cup in hand Jane left the unsavory company of the CBI director and went over to his teammates. Apart from Rigsby who he suspected was in search of more food, they were all still sitting on their seats in the front. That changed the moment Lisbon saw him approach. She jumped out of her chair and when she'd made sure there weren't any cameras or microphones turned in their direction she stood in front of him, arms akimbo. "What the hell, Jane?" she hissed.

"Why, hello, my dear Lisbon. Nice to see you. Enjoying the show?" he greeted her merrily ignoring her ire. He sipped from his tea and moaned in satisfaction. "This hotel is really worth the money. This is some really good stuff."

"Jane!" she burst out angrily. "What are you playing at?"

"Is that a serious question, my dear? I mean, I thought I'd at least taught you well enough to recognize a chessboard when you see one," he explained in a patronizing voice.

She cast him her darkest look. "Stop playing dumb, Jane. What are you up to? I know, you're scheming. You won't fool me for a second. That was such a pathetic display, I can't believe your ego actually allowed you to go through with it." She huffed. "'Oops, I confused the moves of the knights and the bishops,'" she aped him." Honestly, Jane."

Jane just grinned and took another pleasurable sip from his steaming beverage. With an innocent look that didn't fool his teammates in the least he said, "I think, I've behaved admirably well so far. Especially considering that my past has been dragged in front of TV cameras and I've been insulted repeatedly by that arrogant jerk. I even managed to score browny points for the CBI. I don't understand what you're complaining about, Lisbon."

She glared even more. "You know exactly, what I'm talking about. You, Mister, are up to no good, and I want you to stop. Just play the last two games and get it over with." The last part sounded a lot like a plea.

"The last two games, Lisbon? Well, thanks for the vote of confidence," he teased her with raised brows. With a final sip he emptied his tea, thrust the cup at her and turned back to the table, as break time was nearly up. As a last remark and with a wink he said quietly, "I intend to win this whole match, Lisbon. All's fair in love and war, and as there's certainly no love lost between that bastard and me, you can decide for yourself what this is going to be. Wish me luck."

He stepped away, leaving behind his distraught friends. "This is going to get really ugly," Van Pelt stated, worry clearly visible on her face.

"No kidding," Cho agreed.

"Damn," Lisbon huffed. "I knew it. From the moment they met for the first time this afternoon. And Mascarov didn't actually help the situation tonight either. I can't even blame Jane all that much. That man is rather insufferable." She sighed heavily.

"The audience at least seems to love Jane." Van Pelt tried to find the positive in the situation. "That's got to be good for the CBI, right?"

Lisbon sighed once more. "Grace, really. Don't be naive. Yes, that's essentially good for the Bureau, but considering that Jane deliberately maneuvered it that way it stands to reason that it's all part of his grand scheme. So no, not good." She retook her seat, because things were about to restart, but turned in the direction of her youngest team member with a haunting look. "Didn't you realize he played the crowd like the pro he is right from the start? He's been playing a different kind of chess game the whole time and, to stay in the same metaphor, he's the king in that one and we're all the other pieces, positioned strategically to defend him."

Van Pelt shrugged. "Guess you're right, Boss. But I don't like that Mascarov guy and Jane's one of us, so I'll back him anyway. It's just a game after all."

Cho shook his head but retained his stoic face. "Famous last words," he deadpanned.

Rigsby took that moment to sprint back to his seat right before the host announced the start of the second game. The tall agent proudly displayed a bowl of chips which he offered to his teammates, who politely declined. And then their whole attention was drawn to the happenings in front of them.

**)o()o()o(**

* * *

It was Mascarov's turn as the white player, so he made the first move and put his pawn to e4. Jane commented this immediately. "Ah, a predictable first move. The most common one there is." He said it with a charming but inept looking grin that reinforced everybody's impression that he was obviously trying but failing to be a real opponent for the grandmaster.

He reacted to the first move mirroring the position of Mascarov's pawn with his own black one.

What followed was a totally different game than the first one, something which only seemed to occur to the champion after the first six moves, when Jane had effectively countered the master player's every single offensive move with a suitable response.

Furthermore, instead of the small talk he'd kept going during the first match, Jane now limited his annotations to derisive comments about the predictability of Mascarov's moves. He did this in such an innocent and enchanting way that only people who knew him well would recognize that instead of embodying the admiration of a fan, his words were of a very scathing nature.

Mascarov of course detected the hidden insults as well and he was fuming internally. But after the very strict talking to he'd gotten from his manager during the break, he knew he had to keep his calm and take it in stride. To his complete dismay he realized that his anger thoroughly destroyed his concentration, which in turn didn't do anything to improve his mood (or his game, for that matter).

Jane on the other hand was as close to happy as he could get these days. He had a worthy (well, actually more than worthy) opponent on the chessboard for once and could play mind games to his heart's desire at the same time. Several challenges at once and a much obliged audience to grant him the deserved admiration for his ingenuity - well, at the moment they were still more likely to merely sympathize with him, but that would change soon enough.

He'd known right from the start that in a straight game he wouldn't stand a chance against Mascarov. Until he'd met the smug bastard he'd been completely alright with the prospect of losing, but had intended to do so with as much dignity as possible. But now he really, really wanted to win. And since he couldn't possibly hope to do so fair and square – well, there were other options for a resourceful man like him.

Mascarov had a temper, was vain and arrogant, and absolutely hated to be here tonight. Jane had recognized all that immediately and identified it as his greatest weaknesses. The other man was already seething with repressed anger and due to the fact that he not only loathed but still woefully underestimated his opponent, he didn't have his full concentration on the game. All the consultant had to do right now was copying moves of a match Mascarov had played against another grandmaster some years ago, because following his lead, the ex-champion was de facto reproducing that match as well, probably without even realizing it. Though in all fairness, Jane had actually been helpfully pointing this very fact out to him with every comment he'd made about the other's predictability.

The curly blond man had used the past week to study his opponent methodically. He had already been fairly well acquainted with Mascarov's written work and as a supplement he'd now also added about 50 of his greatest games to his memory palace, both ones he'd won and ones he'd lost. The one they were currently engaged in suited him terrifically well. It had ended in a stalemate. By his count: Jane three, Mascarov zero.

They were well into the middlegame, rather close to the endgame actually, when the grandmaster finally seemed to recognize Jane's strategy. But it was already too late to change the outcome at that point. Harry Mascarov rubbed his neck nervously and cursed his opponent to hell and back in his mind.

How that hapless idiot had managed to suddenly turn into such a knowledgeable player was a mystery to him, but he knew he'd have to pay a lot more attention to the next game and couldn't afford to be distracted like that again. This would be embarrassing enough. He'd just been led into a stalemate by a complete amateur, and in front of TV cameras broadcasting his disgrace live and in color.

When the second game was declared to be at an end without a clear winner by the host some minutes later, a murmur went through the present crowd. Only a small percentage had any real knowledge when it came to chess. Hence the majority hadn't been able to follow the game with the necessary means to read it correctly, so the news that their darling had actually held his own against the mean ex-worldchampion came as a real surprise to most of the spectators.

With a winning smile the TV host, who'd recognized who the audience sympathized with right from the start, suggested, "Well, I would say we count a stalemate as a victory for the nonprofessional contender." Addressing the people in the ballroom directly he asked, "Wouldn't you agree?"

Roaring applause and cheers could be heard in reaction. "That sounds like an unanimous yes to me," the host stated merrily. "Congratulations, Mr. Jane."

Another salve of acclaim followed.

The consultant had to do everything in his power not to look as smug as he felt at that moment. He sported a humble expression instead and said meekly, "Oh really? That's too much, isn't it? I mean, I didn't really win after all."

"Nonsense. You as good as did. Didn't he, Harry? You as a fair old sportsman agree, don't you?" the host insisted.

With as much dignity as he could possibly muster, which obviously wasn't very much considering that his expression actually produced some booing in the room, the grandmaster admitted defeat and shook Jane's hand. The consultant accepted the gesture with so much (fake) humbleness that the audience couldn't help but coo with emotion: Jane four, Mascarov zero, but who the hell's counting…

Another break was announced and both players left the table again, but in very different moods. Jane was full of glee and extremely satisfied with the development of his master plan, while Masacrov expected another scolding from both his manager and his family for the utter disgrace he'd just brought onto himself and his lack of dignity in the face of it.

**)o()o()o(**

* * *

This time when Jane came to the bar a steaming mug with tea was already waiting for him. He thanked the barmaid cordially and with his most charming smile. She blushed and stammered a shy "You're welcome, Mr. Jane, and good luck," before blushing some more.

He acknowledged her well-wishes with a nod and was about to leave in search of his teammates, when Bertram cut him off once again. "Splendid, Jane. I'm glad you're following my orders and are playing up to your full potential now. The Unit Manager of the television broadcasting just informed me that they've already received quite a neat amount of donations for us with their live telephone campaign that's taking place during the match. People seem to be quite taken with you. No idea why, but keep it up."

The director was about to pat Jane on his shoulder again, but the consultant stepped back in time and glared at the nearly bald man. "No touching, Gale, or you won't like the consequences," he hissed, before he left the politician without dignifying him with so much as another glance.

He tried to reach his teammates, but during the last 30 minutes his popularity seemed to have skyrocketed. Soon he was trapped in a crowd of well-wishers and people expressing their admiration for him and their dislike for Mascarov. While this was very much in accordance with his master plan, he started to feel somewhat claustrophobic.

Fortunately Rigsby – probably en route on another hunt for edibles – noticed his predicament and came to his aid. The tall agent elbowed his way through the crowd and with the help of his imposing physical presence he managed to free his colleague. "Hey guys, let the man breathe, will ya? He needs some space now, maybe a bathroom break. You do want him to be at his best during the next game, don't you?" he boomed and the guests backed off, a lot of them with apologetic expressions.

"Thanks Rigs, I owe you one," Jane said when they were free from the crowd. "To be in vogue is no business for the faint at heart," he added smugly and sipped his tea with an expression of utter self-satisfaction.

"Maybe I should've just let you suffer," the tall man answered with a groan. "I should've known you'd be insufferable after that show of yours. I must warn you: Lisbon's already blown several gaskets." He shook his head. But then he seemed to reconsider his attitude and started to grin. "I think it was brilliant! You pulled quite a number on that smeary bastard and he didn't even see it coming. How did you do it by the way? Didn't you say that you couldn't possibly stand a chance against him?"

Jane chuckled. "Ah, Rigsby. Can't reveal my secrets, can I?"

"Oh come on, Jane. Don't be like that," the agent whined.

"You know what? I'll tell you later during dinner, I promise. Too many ears around here right now. And I have only won one battle, not the war – yet." The curly blond man grinned deviously.

Rigsby raised his brows in astonishment. "You've got even more up your sleeve? I mean, from what I've gathered about that Mascarov dude from Cho and Lisbon, just getting that one stalemate is like, I don't know, ten touchdowns during the Super Bowl or something." His face sported an expression of awe, inspired by the picture in his mind he'd just created about his friend's feat.

The consultant chuckled again. "Why thanks for the compliment, I think. Only you, Rigsby, only you would dare to compare the sophistication of my chess moves with something as crude as football. But thanks anyway."

"Somehow I feel like I've just been insulted," the taller man grumbled.

"No, my friend, of course not. Would I ever do something like that? Now I have reason to feel insulted," Jane replied with a grin.

They'd reached their teammates at that point. But when Jane saw the storm clouds formerly known as Lisbon's face he excused himself with a sudden urge to use the toilet, before the senior agent had a chance to open her mouth and unleash a thunderbolt in his direction. "Damn that man," she mumbled in irritation. When he reappeared a few minutes later it was just in time for the TV host to announce the commencement of the third game.

**)o()o()o(**

* * *

Both players retook their seats at the table. This time around they even shared similar malicious intends, though their methods of choice differed fundamentally. While Mascarov aimed to completely destroy and humiliate his opponent with his superior chess skills, Jane's game plan comprised nothing less than the total destruction of the other's dignity.

It was Jane's turn to open the game again and he decided on a clear cut, solid strategy, because what he needed for his victory was the right amount of time to launch his missiles with deadly precision. Starting innocently enough served his purpose best.

Mascarov on the other hand was on the eager look-out for his chance to smash that irritating bastard who'd managed to turn an event he'd already been loathing before it had even started into a complete and utter hellish nightmare. His manager was very angry with him and his wife wasn't happy with him either. His son had looked embarrassed and even his personal assistant had cast him disapproving glances all evening.

That this horrible Jane-character continued to cast irritatingly cheery smiles in his direction and didn't seem inclined to make any mistakes only added fuel to a fire that had already reached proportions normally only associated with the Devil's favorite hide-out.

After yet another totally logical move that didn't allow Mascarov to gain any obvious advantage Jane decided to launch his first attack. "Out of curiosity, Harry, my friend: Your wife does know about the affair with your personal assistant, doesn't she? Charming, beautiful lady, by the way. You've good taste in women."

Mascarov flinched and dropped the pawn he'd been about to move. "What the hell? How dare you make such untenable accusations and in public to boot?" he hissed angrily.

Jane five, Mascarov zero, the consultant counted in his head with self-satisfaction. "Untenable? I think not. I'd say, the guilty expression on your assistant's face should be proof enough of the validity of my statement. Just check on the monitor over there: The cameras have her spot on right now." Jane shook his head. "Harry, Harry, really. Pointless to deny the obvious. But I'm sure, everybody out there already knew, right? I mean, it was so obvious even to me and we only just met for the first time today," he added with an innocent expression that convinced most people, that he didn't have any malicious intend with his declaration.

Well, most people were convinced, but Mascarov wasn't one of them. He seethed with anger and tried in vain to find out how that idiot in front of him could've possibly figured out this well-kept secret. One look at his wife told him there'd be hell to pay and that she had no doubt about the truth behind the revelation. With all his might he forced himself to keep calm and concentrate on the game. He wanted to demolish his opponent more than ever now.

"Oh dear," Jane started again just a moment later. "Mrs. Mascarov's staring daggers at you, I'm afraid. Guess she didn't know after all. I'm so sorry, Harry, my buddy. I didn't mean to cause you any trouble." He managed to look apologetic. And then he changed his expression into one of indignation. "And your wife's really no right to take the moral high ground considering her own obvious long-term infidelity. Your manager, I presume?"

At Mascarov's completely baffled look and his wife's audible gasp, followed by a desperate groan from the manager Jane continued, "I mean, it's so plain to see. Your son's the spitting image of his father after all. I think it's a really noble gesture of you to treat him like your own. And truly, what's blood and DNA anyway? It's our feelings that count, right?" He was sporting a warm and understanding expression.

Ignoring the devastated look on his opponent's face he prattled on, "Ah, I shouldn't have said that. Our guys in forensics will have my head for that one. I mean, you wouldn't believe just how many crimes are solved by blood and DNA evidence these days – a very expensive process by the way. So it stands to reason that they're somewhat important. But you know what I mean, don't you, Harry, my friend? About feelings and such?"

"Shut the hell up, you nasty bastard!" Mascarov cried out at that point. He jumped out of his chair and seemed about to punch the consultant, his face contorted with rage. "How dare you? How dare you pull my son into this?"

With utter calm and ignoring the other's obvious agitation Jane merrily provided, "Well, not really your son, actually. Didn't we just agree on that? But okay, I'll keep quiet from now on, my lips are sealed." He made the corresponding hand gesture mimicking zipping his mouth shut.

* * *

At this point the audience seemed rather unsure about the situation. Their sympathy for the underdog was put on a hard test, because these latest revelations about Mascarov could hardly be seen as anything but cruel, especially considering that a child was involved. But the scandalous nature of the disclosure held quite a bit of appeal as well. How delightfully unbelievable, that the chessmaster, who'd always been considered a Goody-Two-Shoes, was not only involved in a juicy affair with his assistant. No. In addition, his wife had obviously been just as unfaithful during most of their marriage and had even managed to foist her lover's child on him! This was a real sensation and that it occurred on live broadcasting as well gave everyone the feeling of being a witness to a momentous event.

Thus public opinion didn't turn against Jane, even though a lot of people found his latest statements in bad taste. Some still held on to their positive, innocuous impression of him and tried to convince themselves that their darling had only involuntarily stumbled over these discoveries and innocently blurted them out. Others went as far as attributing it – in fact rather appropriately – to his skills as a detective. In his defense, they assumed that it was so much second nature to him to see through deceit that he'd been unable to stop himself.

One look in Lisbon's direction showed Jane clearly that she had no such qualms.

The senior agent was seething with indignation. She knew exactly what kind of game her consultant was playing and she didn't like it. Implicating an innocent child was completely inacceptable in her book and she would give him a piece of her mind later on. Even though she didn't feel any sympathy with Mascarov, this had gone too far and Jane had proved once more that he obviously had a difficult time staying within reasonable ethical bounds. He could be utterly cruel at times and she didn't like it at all. And she would let him know in very certain terms.

Mrs. Mascarov, drenched in tears, the manager, who'd actually had owned the stupidity to shout out loud coram publico the question "Is Michael really mine, Julia-darling?"as well as the boy and the assistant had left the room in a hurry – helpfully recorded by the cameras for everyone to see - right after that inane outburst of the cheating manager.

As for the chessmaster: he had grabbed the chess board and turned it over in his anger. He stood bent over, red faced and gasping, and only the barrier between him and Jane provided by the table prevented him from causing the consultant bodily harm.

The TV host tried to defuse the situation, before it could get totally out of hand and made an attempt to appease the enraged Mascarov. "Harry, I'm sure, this is all just some big misunderstanding. Best to calm down and deal with it as reasonable people, right?" He cast an encouraging look in Mascarov's direction and when he detected an albeit tiny release of tension in the other man he continued, "As you just upset the board, I'm afraid we have to count this one as a win for Mr. Jane, but I'm sure, you'll succeed in the next game." With a halting expression he suggested, "Maybe another short break…?"

"If you think I'll spend another minute in the company of that misbegotten jerk, you have another thing coming." Mascarov seethed. "I didn't want to be part of this stupid, useless, idiotic event in the first place and I only agreed to it because I owe someone a favor. Why else would I want to participate in something as utterly stupid as playing chess against a nobody in front of an audience consisting of ignorant, rich fools with no appreciation for the game?"

He all but ran from the room to the loud booing of the viewers, who'd been turned into solid Jane supporters again, having just witnessed Mascarov's true arrogant nature with total clarity. Thus it was only logical for the TV host to declare an overall victory to one CBI consultant by way of one stalemate and another forfeited game, which gained him a round of tumultuous applause from the audience.

* * *

Final score: Jane six, Mascarov zero, the blond man thought happily.

Jane thanked them all politely when things had calmed down a bit, and humbly asked for generous donations for the CBI, pointing out that, unfortunately, crime and deceit were present just about everywhere you looked. He even had the audacity to wink at that.

This was rewarded by another round of clapping and the cameras caught several people about to pull out their checkbooks, which started some kind of chain reaction, because the rich and famous certainly didn't want to appear close-fisted in front of a TV audience.

In the first row four people sat in utter bewilderment and open mouthed shock and couldn't believe that their obnoxious consultant had not only gotten away with causing a major scandal but had actually managed to turn the whole thing into a huge PR-success for the CBI instead.

After some final words from the host and an elated looking Bertram the TV cameras were finally turned off and people started to leave their seats in search for the dining room where the party dinner would take place soon. They were laughing, chatting, and gossiping and everybody seemed to be in an utterly happy and generous mood.

**)o()o()o(**

* * *

**_At the same time – somewhere in the beautiful state of California_**

* * *

The flipside of a head could be seen over the back of a comfy armchair facing a flat screen. A male left hand was setting down a white tea cup sporting some floral pattern back on its saucer on a nearby table, while the corresponding right hand turned off the expensive TV via remote control. Had someone been able to see the face of the man those hands belonged to at that very moment, they would've been confronted with an exceedingly strange plethora of emotions raging from satisfied amusement to sickening cruelty.

Those same hands, now freed from their previous burdens, took hold of a laptop and opened a site on the internet, proceeding then to transfer a tidy sum of money from an untraceable source to CBI's donation account. As reason for payment they filled in '_Chapeau, Mr. Jane. May this lowly contribution facilitate the efforts of my one and only worthy opponent. Sincerely, RJ_'.

**)o()o()o(**

**The End**

* * *

**)o()o()o(**

**I hope you had as much fun reading this fic as I enjoyed writing it. I'd really like to hear your opinions, comments, brickbats and bouquets, so please take a moment and leave a review. Thanks!**


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